Missing
by Silvya Sterling
Summary: *Previously Chase Across Europe* Zach, Cammie, Bex, and Macey travel through London to find Liz. Set after OSOT. SPOILER ALERT! Spies, cannon couples, Zammie. Rated T for Cammie's emotional state and mild swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first story so please don't be too harsh. I do respect constructive criticism and would love to hear your opinions about how this story should continue. **

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It smells like ghost.

It's an absurd thing to say. I recognize that. I also recognize that this distracting olfactory reaction I am having as I dive underneath the rusted cast-iron bed and find myself staring into the bottom of its heavily stained mattress—stained with what, I don't want to know—now hanging just inches over the tip my nose has more to do with the neurotic sensibilities that are stimulating the limbic region of my brain than anything else. At least that's what my friend Liz would insist if she were here, using ginormous scientific expressions so that, as Bex puts it, I would "get all confused and just give up." Get over it, Liz would say. It's all in your head. But, whatever. I know this smell. It smells like stubborn bits of history, and, at least based on my recent experiences, that's not always a good thing.

The bits and pieces of scattered memory surface. Names and faces light up in my head. Samuel P. Winters. I'd been flabbergasted when I found out about Preston's dad, and I was still just as disconcerted. Gilly's list was floating insessantly through my consciousness. It had scrambled through my mind everyday since that awful night of my near-death experience: interrupting the scarce copacetic thoughts that I longed for, muddling with my concentration, and frustrating me to no end.

The coms unit crackles in my ear, causing me to jerk upwards and bang my head into the rusty springs above. I mutter a curse word and yank my hair away from the clutching springboards.

"Cam!" Bex's voice is a muffled static in my ear. I attempt to army crawl from below the bed and my butt gets stuck on the mattress. I grunt, and wriggle my body away until I have fully escaped from the constraining confinement.

"Still alive," I answer, "I was just getting aquainted with a rusty matress." Truth is, I had been wandering through a passageway to get to dinner when I heard a low growl omitting from the other side of the corridor. Because of my recent endeavors, I am paranoid about sounds. Yes, I admit that is not an ideal trait of a spy. But I'm working through it. In the mean time, whenever I hear a suspiscious noise I jump and hide. At least I have good reflexes. I got under the rusty mattress in a record 3.67 seconds. Now as I stand up, brush myself off, and look for the source of my disquietude, I realize the noise was only a heater.

"Well I suggest you get your lazy bum up to dinner before people start to worry you've run away again. Besides, Zach is here and he's looking mighty handsome, Mr. Hot Stuff. Annnnd he just heard me say that. No matter. Just get here quick before they send out a search party for you," Bex babbles. Bex and I had taken to wearing a set of coms at all times, thus, she says, preventing me from ever truly being alone. Because she'd been the last to forgive me, I'd obliged, though I secretly turn it off anytime Zach and I are alone.

"Sir yes sir," I respond in mock salute. I prance down the corridor, past the offending heater, and towards the wall-door which I slide to the right and step through. I am now in the main hallway of the Gallagher Academy. I make a left and head for the colossal doorway of the Grand Hall. As I open the doors, I quickly survey my surroundings.

The hall is practically empty. Most people have left for Christmas break. Bex, Macey, Zach, and about twenty-seven other students remain. They're sitting at one large table together, and I make my way over to join them. I squeeze in between Bex and Macey and seat myself across from Zach. Bex hands me a plate of mashed potatoes.

"Hello friends," I say as I pick through the mushy white stuff on my plate. They awkwardly, and not so subtley, glance at each other in a very un-spylike way. My fork hovers mid-bite. "Have I missed something?" It's Zach who clears his throat and sets down his utensils.

"Cams," he begins, not Gallagher Girl, and I know it's serious, "Dr. Steve was spotted 23 miles from a CIA base in London." I nod.

"Well that seems good. They have a lead, and now they can catch him." Zach sighs heavily.

"Cammie, Liz was reported missing 36 minutes ago. She and her family were vacationing 3 miles away from that same CIA base. It seems like her kidnapper is Dr. Steve," Zach's somber tone and the way his eyes never change tell me he's not lying. My friend is missing. And it could possibly be my fault.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading and please, please review!**

**Silvya**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for all who reviewed, added this story to your favorites, or added this story to your story alerts! I deeply appreciate it, and would love it if you all reviewed again to let me know your opinions about this story and how it should continue! **

**I deleted the last chapter two, so don't be confused. I wasn't proud of that chapter and it didn't go well with the plot of the story. If you are confused, reread the first chapter and I hope that it will make sense. **

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A sudden movement jolts me awake. I look around, disoriented, at my surroundings. From what I can tell, I am on a plane. Next to me sits a large man and woman, eating potato chips, and on my other side is a tiny window. A voice speaks throughout the enclosure.

"Thank you for flying with United Airways. We hope you enjoy your stay in London," it says. At once, the plane is alive with noise and movement, as people reach to get their carry on bags from the storage units above, and depart from the plane. I look down at my small duffel bag. On it bears a single name in large purple letters. _Cameron Morgan. _

And cue the memories.

Forgetting things has become a regularity in my life recently, ever since I got back from my traveling this summer. Sometimes I forget who I am, who my family is, who my friends are, where I live...The list goes on. And when I sleep, the dreams cradled in my subconscious - made of memories I can't reach from summertime -intertwine with reality and my brain gets muddled. I can't remember what is real and what isn't. I can't even remember my name.

"Cam, over here!" Bex calls from down the aisle. She stands with her back to the exit, her own duffel bag in one hand, and the other unoccupied hand cocked on her hip. Her eyebrows are raised in question.

"Sorry, I just spaced out for a second," I reply. I bend down to gather my bag and follow her from the plane. Waiting for us in the terminal are Zach and Macey. Zach is stuffing a hot dog in his mouth and Macey is eyeing him in disgust.

"What took you so long?" Zach asks, spewing hot dog bits. Macey cringes and moves away slightly.

"Nothing, nothing, just getting my bag," I say. By this time, my friends know that I'm a bit off. My brain is confused because of the brick wall that stands between my conscious and subconscious. So my response is adequate enough for them, and we continue through the terminal to the outdoors.

The busy street is filled with passengers waiting for taxis and crowded buses shipping people to their stops. We hail a van and hop in with our minuscule amount of luggage.

"4630 Avior Drive," Zach tells the driver. He turns to us, "We'll have to walk a bit to get to he base." The ride stretches in interminable silence, each of us engrossed in our own thoughts. Finally, I doze off to sleep, my head on Zach's shoulder.

Hours later, a rough hand taps me on the arm insistently. I blink as my eyes adjust to the light and see Bex's face extremely close to mine.

"Wakey wakey , Sleeping Beauty," she coos, and I giggle despite myself. I sit up and gather my belongings before we hop out of the van and go on our way. The area around us is desolate. The dry landscape makes it look like we're anywhere but green, pleasant England. To our right is a desert scape of slab-like rocks. It's nighttime, and early spring buds silhouette against the moon, the only thriving plants in the arid landscape.

"Where are we?" I question aloud. Zach points to an area behind us I can just barely make out. Through the darkness I see a vague outline of a house. More of a cottage, actually, I see as my eyes struggle to decipher the shape. It's small, and it looks homely and rural.

"That's 4630 Avior Drive, where we'll be staying for the night," he says.

"And just how did you find this place?" asks Bex, not looking very impressed with our new living quarters.

"Mr. Solomon has more than one safe house," is all Zach responds. Bex steps forward in consideration. We follow her towards the cottage and pry open the rusting door. It's hinges fly forward and it swings around to let us enter. The room is dark until a light switch is flipped on and we see the extent of the building. It's enormous, complete with a full kitchen, a sitting room area, a pool table, and an old looking hot tub.

And Mr. Solomon sure knows how to decorate. The rugs and runners lying on the floor precisely match the kitchen utensils, namely plates and cups. The color of the hand towels compliments the color on the walls, and the beds that are off in a separate corner have matching bedsheets. In all, the room is marvelous.

"Wow," Macey says in awe, "I never knew Mr. Solomon did interior design." I laugh and the four of us set about searching the place for bugs and cameras. When all have been destroyed, we get ready for bed. The lights go out and I settle in for another restless sleep.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts, and please, please review!**

**-Silvya**


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